10 Years of Blogging – the Tin Anniversary

It’s an exclamation point at the end of an accidental 10-year epic. The closing of a volume in my life’s body of work.

who are you

Today marks the tenth anniversary of the day I published my first post on houseofprince.blogspot.com, which became this site. I have since published over 2,000 posts and countless others for my secret blog, my hyperlocal blog, my friends’ and colleagues’ blogs, and articles for my freelance gigs. A plethora of words.

But I always come back here, to this patch of space. It is my most consistent project I have kept up, the longest commitment to a creative work in my life. It’s the longest time I’ve done anything besides be married to my husband.

In spring of 2005, as I finished decorating the nursery, I mused:

I often stand back and try to imagine what it will look like with a crib and a baby in it, and wonder if the baby will like it. What if he gets to be four years old and tells me “mommy, I hate this color”? Will I be heartbroken thinking of all the work I put into painting the room, or will I hate the color by then, too?

The baby grew into a boy and now he is on the far edge of puberty – he is thick, tall, solid. Yesterday I was putting sunscreen on him at the beach and noted how it no longer felt like putting sunscreen on my little boy. “Why don’t you try doing this yourself,” I offered. But he still needs me. He is only 9.

The Jig Is Up

Yet last week at school, goofing off instead of working on a project, Kyle Googled his name, and up popped the blog with pictures of him fresh from the womb. I gave up his anonymity on the internet long ago – in fact, I never considered preserving it for a second, nor for myself, or Brady, or even my husband. They have unwittingly come along with me into our virtual home on the internet where I have shared too much at times, perhaps, but always just enough to keep me sane. Time will tell if it was worth it.

Kyle was pleased to know that his – our – stories are on the internet and that people have read them. These are raw, real stories straight from the heart where readers, especially myself reading from the future, have witnessed my growth from a determined, intentional young producer ready to tackle her next project: (“Parenthood! Your call time is 3AM.”) – to a shocked, sleep-deprived new mother, to a brand spokesperson, to a cranky veteran, to a professional writer, and back again, to myself.

Return To Me

Overall this blog has told the story of my evolution as a person. It is here that I found myself, truly. I grew up. I finally identified myself, and for my nature, which craves definition and at least the illusion of control, that knowledge is comforting. Click anywhere in these archives, and you will find me: I’m a stay at home mom, a fangirl, a social media junkie, a music lover, a working mother, an advice columnist, a party planner, a chef, an editor, a spokesperson, a comedian, a worried daughter, a grieving friend. I am one of these. I am all of these. I am none of these.

I think of this blog as my legacy now. If I took the site down, cached pages would still exist. Scraped content is out there somewhere, maybe not attributed to me, but they are my words nonetheless. The videos I’ve made, the articles I’ve written, the pictures others have taken of me, that’s all out there, the digital ghost of my real life.

There’s no use taking it down, starting a new site, reinventing. But I have indeed decided to change it.

Reboot

The creative life: without it I am just another mother in a house making lunches. With it I am a superhero, a rock star, a poet.

It seems very fitting that next week, in the midst of an incredibly busy time for my family, I am taking an epic break from my life. I am going to Costa Rica for 8 days, ostensibly to attend a social media retreat, but then extending my stay for quality time with my friend in an exotic location, a departure from my normal, a salve for my wanderlust which has suffered quietly in the corner in a closet as I go about my suburban, provincial, necessary life.

It’s an exclamation point at the end of an accidental 10-year epic. The closing of a volume in my life’s body of work.

And a resetting. I’m not putting too much pressure on myself, but I do intend to come away from the experience with renewed purpose for my creative life. After all, it is the one that fuels the mundane, makes it all bearable. Without it I would be just another mother in a house making lunches. With it I am a superhero, a rock star, a poet.

Long live the House of Prince, in whatever form it takes.

And thank you, whoever you are, for reading.

My Interview With Nicolas Cage

This happened in 2008 and these are just a few of the soundbites from our 12 minutes together. I was the interviewer behind the camera. Here is the whole story.

An Open Letter to the Asshole Who Hit My Car

you assholeDear Mean Lady Who Was Speeding Through the Parking Lot and Because I Was Backing Out of My Space (Even Thought I Was Going Very Slowly and You Were Speeding) Our Insurance Companies are Putting All of the Liability on Me:

Did you get some email from the Universe that told you my family is on a budget and driving two 10-year-old cars that are barely worth fixing anyway? So it was your day to drive without caution and smack your fancy SUV into my little old plastic car?

You charged out of your car, all accusatory and angry, without a thought to my personal safety. When someone plows into a vehicle, a good person’s response is “OMG are you okay?” But with me, you were just angry that this happened, and told me it was my fault, when it was clear to both of us that it was yours.

And now here I am, a mother on a budget, who was working a freelance job to make a little extra to help us get by, and my insurance is going to a) not cover the damages to my car and b) most likely increase. And you, a fancy woman with a luxury SUV and very expensive looking plastic surgery, get to have it all taken care of because of your lie. I hope there is a charitable side to you that inspires you to take the money you would be spending on the insurance increase that in a just world would be YOURS, and donate it to a shelter or better yet a diaper donation drive.

Fuck you.

The end.

Wordless Wednesday: Suggestion

DO NOT EAT